


thirteen years (all the time in the world)

by rafehearteyesadler (prettierodds)



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I guess?.., Mention of blood, Nathan and Sam are mentioned, Rafe POV, Rafe/Sam implied, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love, rafe actually showing emotion, rafe is Grieving and it’s rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29626188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettierodds/pseuds/rafehearteyesadler
Summary: Now when Rafe closes his eyes, all he can see is Sam desperately scrambling for a hold on the roof as the blue fabric of his jumpsuit blossoms dark red. And what had he done? Tugged Nate forward, yelled to keep going? Fucking self preservation at its finest.Or; Rafe takes time to reflect and mourn a loss
Relationships: Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	thirteen years (all the time in the world)

Rafe should be moving on.

After a failed business venture, it only makes sense to go on to make new connections. Better connections. He should  _learn from this experience and move on_ , is what his father would say.

But see, Rafe has never been one for taking his father’s advice, so after he gets back from Panama he picks the furthest city his family owns property in and settles for what very well might be the rest of his life. The first week his phone rings more times than he can count; Rafe doesn’t pick up a single call. The phone calls slow and then eventually stop until he wonders if he’s been forgotten already. Rafe doesn’t really mind the idea. He’s grateful to mourn in peace.

——————————————-

After eight months, Rafe’s still alone in Seattle.

He sits in a dark bedroom, awake at two in the morning with his third whiskey, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that’s not his. A pile of loose leaf notebook pages sits on the otherwise empty nightstand, undisturbed since the night began. Rafe has read them all a hundred times over the last few months, committing the scrawled handwriting to memory. Each page a piece of research from another life, different theories and clues carefully thought out and signed ‘Sam’ in big uppercase letters. Nathan had asked for the pages back after Panama, for anything Sam might’ve left behind that Rafe no longer had any real use for.

Rafe had stared Nathan in the eyes and lied through his teeth that Sam had never given him anything at all.

The truth was, Samuel Drake had given Rafe a lot.

First  attention and respect, where Nate had given weary disdain and tolerance. Sam gave him partnership and trust and his time over and over again. Rafe’s eyes land on the nightstand.

Tangible things, too.

Sam gave him a small fossil dug up from the beach, pressed into his palm with a grin. Then there was a beaded necklace swiped from a tacky souvenir shop that made Rafe roll his eyes. Often a box (or two or three, depending on the week) of Rafe’s favorite cigarettes, and a rotating selection of beer bottles passed behind Nate’s back like a secret.

Rafe’s favorites are the pages torn from Sam’s notebook, the ones in smooth, black ink that are written for an audience. The first time Rafe’s eyes skimmed his name in the margins, in Sam’s writing, he felt his heart skip a beat. It was truly only research, notes and musings about ‘ancient’ this and ‘treasure’ that, but they may as well been fucking love letters the way Rafe poured over them. He remembers the sound of paper torn from binding, when Sam smiled and slid them across the table as weeks passed. Rafe would smile back and gently place his fingers over the words as if they could soak into his skin.

“ _I wrote some stuff for you to look at, tell me what you think. Add whatever you want, just to make sure we have everything. Hold onto it for me.”_

But good things don’t last, and so Rafe is mourning alone, in a sweatshirt that isn’t his but still smells like Sam if he squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates. His chest aches like something is prying open his rib cage and sinking claws into his heart.

_ It wasn’t supposed to be this way. _

Rafe’s hand tightens around his empty glass. There’s some raised pattern on the outside, hard edges biting into his fingers. Before he can think better of it the glass shatters against the wall. He never should’ve gotteninvolved—life was easier before he met the Drake brothers. No, not the Drake brothers; _Samuel_ Drake.

Life was easier before he’d fallen in love with Samuel _fucking_ Drake. He’d let himself hope, naively, that everything could work in his favor. That just once in his life he’d get to choose something that made him fucking happy and keep it.

Now when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Sam desperately scrambling for a hold on the roof as the blue fabric of his jumpsuit blossomed dark red. All the whiskey in the world can’t erase it from his memory, the way Sam’s face looked as he fell. And what had he done? Tugged Nate forward, yelled to keep going? Useless.  Fucking self preservation at its finest. 

“I’m sorry I left you there,” Rafe whispers to no one.

_I wish you were here_ ,  he doesn’t even dare say out loud.

Instead, he runs the back of his hand across his stinging eyes and reaches for the pages on the nightstand, for nothing else but to study his name in Sam’s writing. 

—————————————————————

Twelve years and some odd months later, Raphael Adler’s phone buzzes from its forgotten spot on the desk. After fumbling around under his mess of papers, he opens it to a new email. There’s nothing but a file attached and a single line of text.

_ Adler, _

_ We got a hit from Central America if you’re still interested. You know the number. _

Rafe frowns before tapping ‘download’ and vaguely thinks  _this better not fucking crash my phone._

The files opens, and to say it’s grainy would be an understatement.Rafe’s not even sure what he’s looking at right away. He studies the black and white image for a moment longer before his heart stops and the words  ‘ _Central America_ ’  click in his head.

Security camera footage.  _Prison_ security camera footage.

He can practically feel the sweat and dust settle onto his skin, the exact same way it did a decade ago when he was standing in this very frame. There are three men in the narrow hallway, but only one of them matters.

Rafe starts making phone calls with shaking hands, fighting to keep the growing desperation from his voice. It’s been thirteen years and Rafe’s finally done mourning. 

**Author's Note:**

> It’s after one am I don’t even know if this is anything but once I started thinking about Rafe after Panama I couldn’t stop so y’know. angst.
> 
> ***I don’t remember if they say how Rafe finds Sam in canon and I don’t care rn. Rafe is rich and shady and has dudes on the lookout and that’s that.


End file.
